Pandora's Box
by dentedsky
Summary: Draco isn't just a Veela looking for his mate - he's a singer following his dreams. Pansy plays the perfect fag-hag, but she's getting distracted by a certain red-head. DracoxHarry slash, PansyxRon, and others.
1. Debutante

I really shouldn't be starting a new WiP - but here we go anyway. Big thank yous go out to Koorime and Darkangel Rose for the French help, and also big hugs for TSOSH who is currently my biggest fan, and I hers.

**Chapter One - Debutante**

They were dancing.

The small French village of Sauve was considered the resting place of all the ancient Veelas; in the streets the yearly summer festival took place with the streaming of white ribbons against the landscape of mountains and blue sky. In the main square the Veela community took to folk dancing in their glossy while robes and their guests too joined in.

Pansy liked to analyse the origins of things, even as she laughed and stepped out, clapped hands with her partner, turned, shuffled… Why did dancing exist? It was communication - yes, that was a good word for it, communication - but what were the dancers trying to say? What did the little flicker of fingers against the cheek mean? Did it represent crying, or simply something as innocuous as curly hair?

Veelas from all over the world gathered in Sauve; from England, Asia, even African Veelas, their skin light but their features the prominent make up of their race. During the shuffle of the line dance, Pansy ended up with such a boy, who she linked arms with and they danced around in a circle. Down the line, Draco was making faces at her.

His simple folk dancing was touched with the sexy swing of hips and rolling of shoulders. He was pretending to be a Vogue model now, pouting and fluttering his eyelashes. So what was he trying to say with these extra little moves? I've had too much punch. I'm bored and making my own fun. I'm hiding my nervousness by acting like a knob.

Another couple of shuffles down the line and she would be back to dance the end of the song with her original partner. Just before her and Draco would be reunited in dance, however, a flash of red caught her eye. She craned her head around even as she gripped her hair in one of the folk dance moves (was that to represent wings, I wonder?)

She and Draco were back to the front of the line together. They clapped hands and linked arms. "Draco, there's a very fit fellow over there, two o'clock."

"Where?" he gasped, looking over his shoulder; but they were dancing around in a circle now and all direction was lost.

She glanced once more at the man's long, red hair and beautiful blue eyes, and then at the Veela woman attached to his arm. She made a face, jealous. "The red-head."

Draco looked. "Oh yes," he drawled, curling one arm and stroking down with the other, as if to pat an animal or a small child. "If I'm not mistaken, I'd say he was a Weasley. I swear they're everywhere. You can't even escape them in some segregated town in the middle of France, for crying out loud."

The song ended, and they bowed to each other. She grinned at him from a fringe of wavy golden hair. "He is gorgeous though, isn't he?"

He grabbed her arm gently and pulled her towards the sweet stand. The Veela girl gave them both thick caramel toffees on wooden sticks. Pansy gave Draco an inquiring look.

Draco sighed, dramatically. "Well I _suppose_ he was alright, for a Weasley. Maybe he was the good egg and stole all the genes, or something."

Pansy laughed, and then looked once again across the sunny courtyard. "I say, isn't that Fleur Delacour permanently hanging off his arm like bad acne?"

It was Draco's turn to laugh. "Yeah, she's here every summer." He stuck the toffee in his mouth and his next words were muffled: "Come on, I need you in the loo."

"Oooh, Draco, I never thought you'd ask!"

He widened his eyes in mock-panic. "Play for the wrong Quidditch team, I'm afraid." He led her to the Town Hall, and through it to the door marked 'Monsieur'.

A few of the boys gave Pansy affronted looks as she unabashedly entered the boys' toilets. It was crowded, but they managed to find themselves a sink and mirror. Draco flapped his hands at her. "Fix my hair! We have to go to a cottage in the next street. Someone's getting married and they've asked me to sing."

Pansy was pleased; weddings were ever so romantic, and Draco was a fabulous singer, though in this instance he would be singing in a choir and not on his own. She took a few flowers out his hair and re-pinned them. "Who's getting married?"

"How should I know?" said Draco, simultaneously fiddling with his silver-blonde fringe and eyeing the boy at the next sink. "A couple of Veelas who couldn't give a Kneazle's arse about the wedding and want to get straight to the honeymoon. Veelas have an overly-high libido, apparently." At this, he bit his lip.

Draco was only one-eighth a Veela, as his father was a quarter, but it was enough. After the Debutante ceremony, which all young Veelas and part-Veelas partook of after their seventeenth birthday, Draco would come into his full Veela powers and everything that came with it. It was obvious to Pansy that he was nervous about that afternoon's ceremony.

"Thanks for inviting me here, by the way," said Pansy, softly.

Draco shrugged.

- - -

Draco found the best thing about the Sauve Veela Festival was all the good looking boys; however, this was the year of his Debutante, and as it was, his father was a fugitive from the law and would not be able to attend. He wondered if that was the reason for the strangely large amount of British Aurors hanging around the little cottage the wedding was to take place in the backyard of; but perhaps the bride and groom merely had friends in the British Magical Law Enforcement.

That morning Draco was getting himself ready in his bedroom at Malfoy Manor when his mother came in. She had been running around like a headless chicken, fretting about the Debutante; smoothing his robe, personally ironing his trousers fifty million times (an exaggeration, but it seemed that amount to Draco) and fixing and re-fixing his hair, as if he had not done so himself half an hour before.

She had sat him down on his bed and stood in front of him, fanning herself with her perfectly manicured hands, getting ready to make the proud speech that really should be made by the boy's father.

Truly, Draco loved his mother to bits, but she had passed on the curse of over-dramatics to her only son. She fiddled with her corset and took a deep breath.

"I am so proud of you, my darling."

He gave her a kind smile.

"And you look absolutely beautiful. I can't imagine you appearing anymore lovely than you already are. You will sweep all the women off their feet like a breeze from the heavens…"

Ugh, thought Draco. "Mother, there's something I need to tell you -"

"Shh, quiet my sweet. Let a mother have her moment." There was a pause in which she went over to her little bag filled with hair potions for Draco, and pulled out a minute white velvet box. It was small, like the case for a wedding ring. She adjusted her skirts and kneeled in front of Draco, presenting him with it. "It's usually the father who presents the son with the Key, but as things are…"

Draco quickly took the case and opened it. Inside sat a small round object, shiny like a pearl, but slightly bigger. Draco knew it to be a live magical egg, born from the volcanos beyond the village of Sauve. It could give birth to any animal; his father had been presented with one from his own father, and when it had cracked open, a miniature dragon had burst forth. It was how Draco had gotten his name.

Apparently the animal would help the Veela find his or her soul mate, but Draco did not entirely believe it. He could not truthfully consider that fate of such proportions actually existed. In his reasoning, the presenting of the egg was just an old and over-used tradition.

Narcissa was looking at him expectantly. He exhaled shakily.

"Thank you, Mother."

Her smile faded and she gave a curt nod. She glanced down, as if to compose herself. Her chin shook with suppressed emotion, it seemed. She made to put her hand on his, but hesitated and eventually pulled away. When she finally looked him in the eye again, she gave him a smile and laughed lightly.

"My little boy, all grown up!"

Back in the present, the conductor was directing Draco in French to stand on one of the highest steps up the back, and as he awkwardly stepped up next to other Veela boys his age, he got a glimpse of the groom standing near the alter, getting a "it's perfectly normal to have cold feet" lecture from his brother.

It was the red-head Pansy had been perving on.

A Weasley. Getting married.

He sighed.

He felt a tug on the bottom hem of his traditional white Veela dress robes. He looked behind and down to see Pansy looking up at him, panic-stricken.

He raised an eyebrow. "I know; it's the Weasley you love so much. Tough biscuits, Pansy, he's taken."

But she was shaking her head. "It's not that," she rasped, "_they're_ here!"

"Who?" he demanded.

Her teeth were clenched in a 'holy shit!' look. "Potter! And the other Weasley, Ronald. Oh and his little sister, you should see her Draco." Abruptly, her fearful demeanour changed to one of amusement. She burst out laughing. "She looks like such a slut, oh my god, her boobs are falling out all over the place -"

But Draco was frozen, hoping against hope that he had misheard her. "Potter and Weasley? Here? Merlin's hairy chest, Pansy, you can't let them see me. No wait - what are they doing here?" His eyes widened. "Pansy! I'm wearing _flowers_ in my _hair_!" How embarrassing, he thought frightfully. He touched a hand to his hair and winced. "And _hairclips_, Pansy, hairclips!"

Pansy was still cackling like a hyena on steroids. She seemed to want to say something but she was gasping and clutching her stomach in hysterical glee.

Narcissa came up and rested a hand on Pansy's shaking shoulder. "You'll be fabulous today, darling," she said to Draco. "Come now dear," she added to a sobering Pansy, "come stand over here with me."

Draco shot Pansy one last panicked look before subtly looking around for Potter and Weasley. Them, here! On his Debutante! But, he realised, that would explain why all the Aurors were looking stricken. They were here to protect their _Precious Potter_. He scowled.

The boy next to Draco was given him the nudge. He was a pretty Veela with long hair and appeared to Draco to smile way too much. He handed Draco the small song book. Draco took it and flipped to the right page. It was a song he already know, thank Merlin. Even though it was in French and he had forgotten much of the language, he still remembered the song from when his French tutor sung to him as a child.

He nudged Draco again. "_Salut_," he said, before saying something rapidly in his language that Draco did not bother to catch. "_Je m'appelle Luc. Vous?_"

Draco did a double-take. Oo-er, 'Luc' eh? Draco sized Luc up and decided he liked what he saw. He gave the boy a long, lazy smile. "_Je m'appelle_ Draco. Are you from around here?"

Luc frowned in a confused and very cute way. "_Qu'est-ce que vous êtes Brittanique_?"

"Britain, yeah." Draco was already bored. He craned his neck and finally spotted his target, hovering nervously in the crowd, shuffling to his seat.

Potter had this weird aura thing, pulling everyone towards him where ever he went, which was so incredibly annoying, because that was attention that should be directed at Draco alone. There was nothing remarkable about Potter; he was just this scarred, speccy, messy hair twat with bad dress sense. Even now his glasses were smudged with fingerprints and he was wearing boring blue dress robes. People were staring at him, some even pointing as he sat down with Weasley on one side and the Weaslette squeezing close on the other. Draco moved towards Luc in order to hide behind him a bit. "Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks!" he muttered to himself.

"'Boll… ocks'?" asked Luc innocently. "_Que ce moyen_?"

Draco put his hands on Luc's shoulders, putting him in position. "Just… stand still, right here. Don't move!"

"'Dont moove'? _Que veut dire_ 'donte moove'?"

"Shh! It's about to start."

Indeed the ceremony was about to start. There was a hush among the guests as Gabrielle Delacour, the flower-girl, started up the isle to where William Weasley stood at the altar. She enthusiastically showered the garden path with white petals, and Draco lifted the song book, opening his mouth to sing.

- - -

Overall, the ceremony was beautiful. Fleur looked particularly splendid in her long wedding gown, and when the young couple were saying their vows, they actually cried together. It was concluded with the releasing of a butterfly, which flew into the air about two metres before bursting into a million tiny bright white sparks.

The guests headed over to where ever the reception would be, as Draco, Narcissa and Pansy headed back to the town square to partake in or watch the year's Debutante ceremony. Draco fiddled with the collar of his robe nervously.

"You'll be great," Pansy told him confidently. Draco nodded.

"Well," he said, saluting, "I'm off!"

"Good luck, pumpkin!" Narcissa called after him as he walked to the centre of the crowd. He blanched, embarrassed by his mother.

The soon-to-be initiated Veelas' families and friends made a thick circle around the perimeter of courtyard. There was a group of about forty young Veelas this year - not many for the population of the world. Veelas, like any other magical creature, were quite rare in that century. Draco went over to stand with the only other Deb he knew - Luc. The boy seemed pleased to see him. "_Salut! Quelle belle jounee!_"

"Hi," said Draco, looking around nervously. The main priestess, an old Veela woman, was directing the small group into two lines of approximately twenty. Draco got into the second row between Luc and some girl he did not know. In the crowd, he caught site of Potter and Weasley squeezing through to get a good look at the ceremony.

"Crap," Draco swore, turning away to hide his face. Why did they have to come here today of all days?

Three other priestesses stood at the front with the first. They were directing the boys and girls in different languages: French, Italian, Spanish, English and a few others. "Take off clothes now!" one of them demanded. "Then you must kneel!"

Draco did what he was told; he knew the drill: shoes came off first, then his robe, so all he as in was the trousers, like everyone else. The girls had their breasts strapped in white clothe and ribbons, as was the custom. He and Luc exchanged glances and kneeled, sitting back on their heels and leaning forward, palms flat on the stones, so their arms were outstretched in a kind of prayer bow. The hot afternoon sun beat down on Draco's bare skin, and he felt his back muscles twitch with the stretch.

"Howdy!" said the girl from beside him. A Yank. Fabulous.

Draco lifted his head to look at her. In front of them, the main priestess had started on the first girl in the front line; touching her shoulder blades with the thick balm, and throwing petals over her. "Don't talk to me," Draco drawled.

"Don't worry, I'm a little scared too," said the American, undeterred. "But I'm also _so_, like, excited!"

Draco gave her a pointed look. "Aren't we not supposed to talk?"

She looked around quickly before saying, "Nah, they can't hear us! Isn't this, like, the coolest ever?! My _mom_ - she's a Veela - told me that in her day, they used to sacrifice goats and use the blood on our wing-scars instead of ort-balm! Isn't that exciting?! So are you like, from England and stuff?!"

"Oi!" said a boy from her other side. "Shut ya flytrap, ya fat mole!"

"Draco," Luc whispered in his ear, as the American girl and the Australian boy started verbally fighting, "_Voulez-vous sortir avec moi ce soir_?" Draco turned from where he was looking at an enthusiastically waving Pansy to the anxious French boy.

"Look," said Draco softly, "I don't think going out with you would be such a good idea; we don't even speak the same language." Not that that really mattered in Draco's mind; any other time he would have taken up the offer, but this was the day of his Debutante, and his stomach was fluttering with unease. Besides, after this he would be flooing straight home to have a little celebration with his mother, Pansy, and Crabbe and Goyle had said they would come over too.

The priestess had finished the front row, and was now making her way down Draco's line. To the side, Potter was staring at him. Draco took a deep breath and lowered his head.

The American whispered to Draco. "Oh my god! It's like, my turn!" And then she lowered her head as the priestess stepped in front of her.

A minute later, it was Draco's turn. There was a three-step process: first, the priestess rubbed thick clear ort-balm on his shoulders; her wrinkled hands made soft, cold circles on his shoulder blades. This was a kind of anaesthetic; when Draco's wings would first come forth, it would be painful, but he would get used to it with every future transformation. Second, white rose petals would be thrown upon him as the priestess chanted a prayer in the old Veela language. This was purely tradition. The last rite involved Draco lifting his head and taking the Communion.

It was a small dry biscuit that he had to hold in his mouth and not swallow until the priestess gave the signal. As he opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue, Draco glanced at Potter. The boy was watching with parted lips and wide, curious eyes. The priestess placed the sweet onto his tongue and he took it into his mouth, his eyes unblinkingly never leaving Potter's green ones.

Christ, thought Draco. He looked away and lowered his head once more.

- - -

It was one of the most beautiful things Pansy had ever seen.

If the world had turned upside down, and angels did not fall from the sky but raised themselves from the ground, this, she decided, was exactly what it would look like.

There was a flurry or growing wings; the feathers were not completely white, as some were grey and brown; but they grew from the Veelas' backs like the sprouting of a voiceless heaven. When sprung they tossed the white confetti upward, only to see it flutter back down over them like soft snow as their bodies rose. The extra limbs were the size of the owner plus some, and they furled into their great glory to the soundtrack of a choir of castrati, who sung the hymn of the Coming of Heaven. There was grand applause and cheering from the crowd.

Pansy had noticed Weasley and Potter across the court, and had made sneering faces at them. However, it was only Weasley who noticed, sticking his finger up at her, which Pansy found amusing. Potter only had eyes for Draco in the French sun. Draco himself had been embarrassed by the gaze, it seemed to Pansy, and she wondered what Potter's game was. Her imagination twisted away from Potter's motivations to the idea of Potter and Draco together… she was a teenaged girl, after all. But like all fantasies, the thought of a Draco/Potter relationship was just plain unrealistic.

After talking briefly with a few of the other Debs, Draco turned and caught Pansy's eye. She beamed at him, but it was soon to waver as he approached her like a deathly warrior angel readying himself for a mission on earth. His wings arched high, and his feet and fingers were hard and roughened and sharpened like claws.

"Merlin Draco," she breathed, and he grinned at her. His canine teeth had lengthened and sharpened like a vampire's, and his grey eyes held a feral gleam.

"Darling," Mrs Malfoy purred, touching her hands to her son's bare shoulders, "you look very handsome."

"You know what?" said Draco, smiling at both women conspiringly. "I have this strange urge to kill something." Indeed, behind Draco, a Veela girl was fluttering her wings in agitation as she had a shouting match with one of the boys. She made to claw his face off, only for him to hiss in her face. They were acting like fierce animals. Pansy took a wary step back.

"Hey," said Draco, pouting at her, "why aren't you attracted to me yet? Aren't you supposed to be trying to gain my attention by impressing me with great feats or something?"

It was Narcissa who answered. "You can't attract anyone while you're in your natural form. This," she gestured at him, "is only supposed to occur when angry; only for fighting, you know what I mean."

Draco frowned. "How boring."

"Return to yourself and you'll attract plenty."

Draco screwed up his eyes in concentration, and then slowly, his wings got smaller and smaller and retracted into his back. The broken skin around his fingers, toes and shoulder-blades healed themselves.

"Ouch," said Pansy, wincing, "doesn't that hurt?"

Draco gave a dramatically suffered sigh. "Just a bit. But I'll learn to endure the great pain that is inflicted upon me."

Pansy rolled her eyes and had a quick look around. The Gryffindors were no where to be seen. "We should probably get home," Narcissa was saying. "Vincent and Gregory should be over at the Manor soon."

Draco _accio_'d his robe and after dressing, slung both arms around his mother and Pansy and steered them away.

Pansy felt an odd feeling build in her gut as she looked at Draco, now beautifully glowing, and seeming to light up her whole world. The heat radiated to her cheeks and limbs as she gazed upon his godly form. "Draco," she began breathlessly, "have I ever told you that I'm the richest woman in the world and winner of _Witch Weekly_'s Most Beautiful Diva Award?"

Draco pulled his arm away as he gaped at her in shock. "What? Since when? You never told me - "

"Here, dear," said Narcissa to Pansy, pulling out a small blue glass bottle from her robe pocket, "drink this. It'll make you feel… better."

Pansy thanked her profusely.

**To Be Continued.**

Every review means good karma for you!


	2. The Hogwarts Expressive

**Chapter Two - The Hogwarts Expressive**

It was what Draco called The Tingling - a prickling sensation starting from his pinking cheeks and down his arms, the sensations finally correlating in his stomach, churning like a whirlpool. The first time he had felt The Tingling, he was eight, and he had burst into tears and buried himself under the covers of his large bed, screaming to his parents that he was feeling sick and needed medicine or he would die. 

Of course he was not actually sick. And it was terribly addictive, this feeling, the tingling sensation. 

So after the first time, he went back again - into his parents' room, then into his mother's adjoining parlour, then to her make-up dresser. Upon it, next to the mirror was her perfumes, then in the top drawer was her foundation, and rouge, then in the second drawer was her eye-shadow and eyeliner, then the next drawer was lipstick and so on. Across the room the wardrobe took up the whole wall like a curtained stage, ready to show its rich costumes. 

He dressed in her pretty dresses, way too large for him, and then he got into her brightly coloured high-heels. But his favourite part was the make-up: the eye-shadow was spread across his eyes, his movements sloppy with his inexperience. The lipstick went on last, always last. It was the finishing touch. 

And then he got a cloth from the bathroom and wiped it all off. He was careful to put the dress and shoes back just the way they had been before they were removed. But the true damage had been done - The Tingling was there, all over his body, crawling under his skin and pooling in his groin. 

His father, Lucius, had many parties. They were held downstairs in the Ball Room, far away from upstairs West Wing where Draco's parents' room was. The children of the partying adults always had fun exploring Malfoy Manor; their favourite game was hide-and-seek because there were so many rooms to hide in. Draco's best friend was Pansy on those nights, because they would break away from the other children and sneak into Narcissa's parlour and play dress-up. They would stare at themselves in the mirrors, thinking that they were beautiful, that this was the way they would look when they grew up. 

"I want to be just like Mummy," Draco had told Pansy. 

"But you're a boy," said Pansy, confused. She leaned forward and gave him a kiss. 

The last time Draco had felt The Tingling, he was eleven. 

Narcissa Malfoy had a sister that she only saw on the days Lucius was abroad in another country far, far away. She had made Draco promise over and over: _Don't tell your father Auntie Eda was here. Promise me you won't tell Daddy your auntie was here._ And that automatically meant Draco could not mention his cousin Dora, either. 

It was one of those early spring nights. Nanny Elladora was there visiting, with Auntie Eda and Uncle Tonks and their daughter Dora. Nanny Elladora was a stuck up woman who looked down her pointed nose at Draco's youth. Everything about her was straight: her arms were like crispy sticks protruding from her straight shoulders that sat on a stick-thin body. Her hair was black and straight, her clothes her black and straight, and her eyes were black and piercing. Her nostrils flared in irritation, and that was about the only emotion she showed. While Narcissa seemed somewhat intimidated by her mother, Eda always seemed happy. She was a jolly woman with a large bosom and brown hair that sprung from her head in ringlets. All Draco could remember about Uncle Tonks was that he was bald and wore glasses. Uncle Tonks did not talk much. 

Dora Tonks was older than Draco and was at the age when she was just getting interested in boys and disinterested in kids games. In one last goodbye to her childhood, Dora let Draco sneak them into the parlour, and Dora had fun dressing him up like one of her long-forgotten dolls. She was a lot neater than Draco at putting the lipstick on, and she too decided, after some hesitation, to dress herself up in "Auntie Cissa's" things. Draco saw his essence twice: in the mirror, and in himself. The Tingling was back full throttle, and he was a little embarrassed by it in front of his older, cooler cousin. 

Dora screwed up her face, then, and suddenly Draco was seeing himself in women's clothing four times over: himself, the mirror, then reflected in Dora's morphed form, and then her mirror reflection again. It was repeated and repeated and it hit Draco over and over: _this is me; this is who I am!_ Like from a distant land he looked to the reflections and took in his curse like a breath of air. The sound of violins were heard in his head, the beat of the drums was coming ever closer, faster and faster, and when he pressed fingers to his lips the red lipstick smudged, and there, just there, the soundtrack to his inner self came to a climax, beating into his groin… The Tingling ended, morphing into his very first stiffy. 

Draco would never forget the sound to end all revelations. It was piercing scream like no other - and when a young boy in drag talks of pierced screaming, you know he knew exactly what it was like. It was like something he could not describe no matter how hard he tried. Like a warrior on his last war cry; like a cat's back legs had just been crushed by a passing car and it felt every pinch of pain; like the gods had finally come up from their heavenly slumber and looked upon the world and it was the exact opposite of what they had originally created; like… like… 

Like an eleven-year-old's extremely strict grandmother had just come into the room and had seen not one, but two Draco Malfoys dressed in drag. Plus their reflections. 

Nanny Elladora screamed and screamed, falling to her knees. Her arms and hands fluttered to her chest, convulsing like a dieing spider's. Finally her shriek broke into little pieces like sharp, shattered glass as she coughed, wheezed, mewled like a wounded animal. 

She fell face first onto the carpet with a thud. Draco would never, ever forget it. 

The three other adults burst into the room and in a split second there was chaos. "Mummy!" Narcissa was screaming, shaking Nanny Elladora. "Dora!" Auntie Eda was shouting at the children. "Which one are you?" 

Dora's face screwed up then, as if to change back, but instead she burst into tears. "Mummy!" she screamed. But Draco at this point was getting very little attention. "Mummy!" he also screamed, and Narcissa lifted her head from her own mother to look at the children, her eyes flicking back and forth between them, looking but unseeing. Neither Narcissa nor Andromeda could tell their children apart. Uncle Tonks bent down to close Nanny's eyes and mouth, and cross her arms over her chest, but then Narcissa was back by her mother's side and was screaming at Uncle Tonks: "Don't touch her! Don't you dare touch her!" 

Eventually Dora had gathered enough concentration to turn her eyes blue instead of grey, and that was enough for the adults to tell which child was whose. It turned out that Nanny Elladora had had a heart attack. She was the last of the Blacks of her generation; her sister was dead, her husband was dead, her brother-in-law was dead, and so were all the Blacks of the previous generation too. Narcissa cried and cried so much for her mother's death that she forgot to punish her son for wearing her clothes. Instead she held onto him, rocking them there on the floor, Draco's make-up making splotchy circles of colour on her gown. 

It was just one of those childhood memories a boy never forgets. Sometimes Draco would play the scenes over and over in his head in quick succession, like now when he was entering Platform Nine And Three Quarters. The remembrance of The Tingling gave him a calm, meditative effect, because he was seventeen now, not a little boy, and he knew he would never feel its pleasurably evil effects ever again. 

One hand held his wand, which was floating his trunk. With his other hand he waved to Crabbe and Goyle, who were down the platform. His mother gave him a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek and said rapid goodbyes before she was off. The platform was crowded with reunited friends and parting families. Crabbe and Goyle, now muscly in their early adulthood, pushed them all aside to get to Draco. 

"Crabbe, Goyle," Draco greeted mildly. They had seen each other often during the holidays, and needed no big hellos. 

They flanked him, and together they walked towards the train. "I think you've got a few admirers, Draco," said Greg disinterestedly. 

Draco's eyes widened as he looked around. Indeed, there were many girls eyeing him openly, sighing and swooning and other such carry-on as they laid eyes on him. "Oh bother," Draco whispered, "it must be that Veela attraction thingy." He grabbed onto Crabbe's bulky arm - which was about as thick as Draco's waist - in distress. 

"You-hoooo!" Pansy waved over the crowd a few metres away. She pushed forward. 

"Oh god, noooo!" Draco wailed, holding onto Crabbe even tighter. 

When Pansy got to them, she rolled her eyes. "Nice to see you too, Lil' Drakey-poo," she teased, flicking him on the forehead. "I drank that potion your mother gave me, remember? I am completely warded from your 'magnetic attraction'." 

Draco sighed in relief and clutched his chest dramatically, blinking rapidly as if to catch himself out of a swoon. "Oh thank Merlin! Now what are we going to do about all the girls?" They looked around; a few girls were coming forward. Draco gave Pansy a panicked look. "Run! Run for your life! Forget the dog, and the cat! Just grab your Calvin Klein perfume get the hell outta there, Apollo!" 

Pansy laughed, pushing Draco onto the train. Crabbe and Goyle followed with the four friends' trunks. As they got themselves into a compartment, Pansy said, "Want to hear some gossip?" 

"Gossiping already, Pansy? Tut tut." The two large boys pushed the trunks under the seats and joined Draco and Pansy. They all sat down. 

"Two words," said Pansy. "Daphne, blue." 

Draco groaned emphatically. Daphne Greengrass dyed her hair a different colour every term as some sort of statement only she knew. 

Pansy was nodding. "Turns out she's going out with Michael Corner and is showing a bit of Ravenclaw loyalty. I swear, Draco, that boy has worked himself through every girl he lays eyes on, myself included. Gosh, that was a bad four hours if I do say so myself." 

Draco grinned. "Okay Pansy, as much as I love to hear about your sexcapades, I think you have yet to notice a little something special about me." 

"Yeah yeah, you're a Veela, big whoop." 

"No, Pan, look closer." 

Just then, three more seventh year Slytherins came in to the compartment. First was Blaise Zabini, a tall, dark fellow who spent all his time caressing his guitar as if it held all the pleasure in the world; second was Millicent Bulstrode, a 'big-boned' girl who read lots of wizarding rock magazines; and then came Theodore Nott, a boy with long black hair that veiled his face, who liked to write angsty poetry and song-lyrics. The three of them were considered Goths; a word used to describe society-hating kids who wore black and thick silver jewellery. They were so non-conformist of society, they conformed to their own set of even tighter rules. 

"Hey wow Malfoy," Millicent drawled, seeming to Draco overly-bored, "you're Head Boy." 

Draco beamed at her and puffed out his chest. "Oh yeah," said Pansy, "congratulations!" 

"Thank you Pansy," he sniffed. 

Pansy pulled out a lolly-pop from per pocket. Pansy liked sucking things; it may have been from some sort of repressed oral fixation, Draco speculated. "So who's Head Girl?" 

The train jolted and started to roll away. Draco crossed one leg over the other and sneered. "Granger the Mudblood, who gets an orgasm every time she sees a book." 

Pansy giggled a little. She was polite enough to laugh at Draco's jokes, but she had known him so long that his humour ceased to be all that funny. Draco silently gave her House points for trying. "Well, that's a surprise," she said sarcastically. 

"I should probably go," said Draco reluctantly, "and brief the little prefects." 

Pansy waved him away. "Then go, I'll be alright." She gave Greg a sexy smile. "I might take a nap on Goyle's lap, if he'll let me." 

"That's reminds me," said Draco happily as he got up. "I get my own room!" 

She gaped at him. "You little bitch! Who's my bestest friend in the whole world and will let me borrow his bedroom for that special occasion when I have a man trailing after me like a good little puppy." 

He gave her a pitying look. "I'll think about it." He pivoted and sauntered out the compartment. 

Granger was waiting for him outside the Prefects' Compartment door, her arms crossed over her clipboard. She glared at him. "I can't even _begin_ to believe _you've_ been chosen for Head Boy!" 

Draco sneered at her and put his hands in the pockets of his white trousers. "Well believe it, Granger, because I refuse to hear more of your whining than is strictly necessary." 

"Well anyway," she sniffed, tossing her curly brown hair over her shoulders, "you're late." 

"So sue me," Draco drawled slowly as he reached past her and pulled open the door. 

She suddenly put a hand on his shoulder. He let out an annoyed breath and when he finally looked at her, what he saw made him take a step back. 

Granger was looking at him very strangely, almost as if she… she was seeing him in a new light and wanted to kiss him. 

Draco took another step back. 

"Did you know I've been made Head Girl?" she said quickly. 

"Um, yes?" said Draco incredulously. 

"And," she plummeted on, "I'm actually pure-blooded, but I'm pretending to be Muggle-born because I am on a deadly mission from Dumbledore to find the legendary Philosopher's Stone, which will give me the power to save the world! But only I can use it because I'm the most pure of pure-bloods -" 

Holy shit, thought Draco. What struck him as very odd then was that Granger was probably quite insecure about her dirty blood if she was making up such rubbish as whatever it was she was ranting about. 

Draco pulled out his wand. 

And hit her over the head with it. 

"- save all the house-elves through my special powers - OW!" 

"Try and control yourself during the meeting," Draco told her, irritably. He pushed past her into the Prefects' Compartment, arms crossed. 

"Alright," he said loudly to the chatting prefects. They fell silent immediately. "Let's get this over and done with. Firstly, you can't take away House points; tragic, I know, but that's life. Secondly, you can't assign detentions. If you catch anyone doing anything against the rules, inform your Head of House - yes?" 

The female Slytherin prefect had put up her hand. Next to him, Granger was still staring at him funny, but at least she was keeping her mouth shut. The prefect said, "Did you know I'm a model for _Vogue Witchcraft_?" 

He noticed then that the four girls were staring at him in lust, while the boys were looking particularly disgruntled by having their female counter-parts acting like idiots. "That's nothing," the female Ravenclaw said loudly, "I've read every book in the whole world. Twice!" 

"Fascinating," drawled Draco. "Now let's move on to Emergencies. The main emergency exits - yes, what?" 

"My left nipple is pierced," said the girl-Hufflepuff prefect. 

Draco closed his eyes and shuddered. "Okay, that's enough, I'm done. Granger, you have all the info, you finish up." He turned and stormed out the compartment. 

In the corridor, Pansy was arguing with the trolley lady. "Yes, dear, but perhaps I should keep a few for the other children." 

"But you don't understand," said Pansy. "I need to buy _all_ the lolly-pops because my current stash is diminishing, and I _need_ lolly-pops. It's a life and death situation, you don't know how serious this is!" 

"She's right you know," Draco cut in. "You better just give them all to her, or she'll go crazy. And you do not want to see Pansy go crazy." 

"Oh my," said the trolley lady, "you are a very handsome boy…" 

Pansy made the exchange and shoved her sweets into her jeans pockets. They did not all fit, but she tried anyway. "Come Pansy, let's annoy some Gryffindors." 

She turned to him and the lady trundled off. "Oh dear. What happened?" 

Draco shook his head sadly, deliberately wobbling his chin as if about to cry. "Granger hit on me, Pansy. I've been scarred for life." He rested his head on her shoulder and she patted his back in sympathy. 

"Alright, I think they're in this compartment, here." She slid the door open with a flourish. "Ooo-er," she whined, "if it isn't _Potty_ and his little friends!" Pansy, obviously, learnt from the best. 

Draco stepped up next to her leaned against the doorjamb. Inside was Weasley - who had already stood up to growl insanely at Pansy - and his sister, with Loony Lovegood, Longbottom and Potter. 

Draco looked him over lazily. Somehow, Potter had grown into something incredibly beautiful since they had seen each other only a month ago. His big green eyes were trained on Draco with growing lust, his reddening lips slightly parted. His chest was strong and defined under his T-shirt, his jeans spread tight over his thighs. 

The whole observation took only Draco a second but - then he felt it. 

The Tingling. 

He had not felt this way since he was eleven and had thought never to feel it again. It was like a million fingers were caressing his skin softly all over. He swallowed thickly and tried not to shiver at the feel of that tingling swirl itself to his groin. 

Potter was still gaping at him, as if he thought Draco was the most gorgeous creature he had ever seen, and was absolutely terrified by the idea. 

"Well at least it's good to see Malfoy isn't still dressed like a girl," Weasley was saying to Pansy smugly. 

Draco snapped his attention from Potter to Weasley and instantly felt sick. The last time he had felt The Tingling he had been dressed like a girl and his grandmother had died right in front of him. A part of him knew Weasley was talking about the day of his Debutante a month ago, when he wore flowers in his hair, but he was reminded of that dreadful day and now that it was stuck in his head it would not leave. He took a deep breath. 

"You're just jealous," said Pansy, "because your bookworm girlfriend wants to bed Draco instead of you." 

Weasley spluttered while the others looked on. "She's not my girlfriend! And she wouldn't go anywhere near that ferret!" 

"Shut up, Ron!" 

There was a pause. It had been Ginevra Weasley who had shouted at her brother. Everyone stared at her. 

"Don't worry, Draco, I'll protect you. I'm a black belt in karate and can do wandless magic!" 

Draco groaned in both pain and annoyance. "I think I've had enough," he drawled to Pansy; "Gryffindors are insane." 

They left and went back to their initial compartment. Crabbe and Goyle were snacking on sweets, while the other three occupants were doing their usual angsty things they do. 

Draco sat down next to the window, clutched his stomach and doubled over. "I don't feel so good." 

Pansy sat down next to him and absently rubbed his back. "Did you see Weasley?" she said excitedly. "He was looking really fit. Give him a couple of years and I reckon he'll look as good his older brother, you know, the one who got married?" 

There was a moment of silence before Draco mumbled from the vicinity of his knees, "Huh?" 

"Ronald, he looked fit. Did you hear what he said? He said that Granger wasn't his girlfriend!" 

"...So?" 

"So he's available!" 

"Pansy... argh. Please be quiet. I beg you." 

"Did you even see him, Draco? That boy has some nice biceps, and you know how I love good arms on a man." 

"Pansy, this is Ron Weasley you're talking about. He's penniless and lives with farm animals. He _is_ a farm animal." 

"Oh don't be so melodramatic!" That was asking a bit much, but Draco let it go this time. "Yum yum chocolate chip, honey dip, let me take a scoop - I need a lolly-pop!" 

Ron Weasley was the furthest person from Draco's mind. 

**To Be Continued.**

Reviews make the world go round! 


	3. Pandora's Key

**Chapter Three - Pandora's Key**

Wizarding culture did not dictate for clothes to be worn under robes, but these days everyone did anyway, even in summer. There was something about wearing nothing but underwear under one's robes that made it feel as if one was wearing a dress - especially when that warm summer breeze washed in to swirl around one's loins. 

Teenagers were fickle and particular about what they wore under their school robes. Poor wizards like the Weasleys wore old trousers and Muggle T-shirts under theirs; Potter did too, even though he had the money to buy something decent. Pansy, Daphne, Tracey, Perdita and Sally-Ann liked wearing jeans and brightly coloured blouses. Crabbe and Goyle wore the boring brown trousers and white shirts their mothers for bought them. Nott, Zabini and Millicent wore black, black, and more black. Draco wore white. 

He disliked dark colours because it made his skin look pasty and pink. White and silver brought out the best in him, and made him look like an angel besides. Plus, it set him apart from his housemates and in this he held some rebelliousness and independence. He owned white trousers, white-wash jeans, white clam-diggers, white shorts, white short-shorts. He owned white shirts in linen, cotton and silk, white cotton tees, white jumpers in wool, cashmere, cotton; there were turtle-necks, V-necks, boat-necks, round-necks; sleeves with elastic, sleeves that flared, some long, some three-quarter, some a normal length. 

He had many white robes and cloaks too; but he at least had a few in colours. 

The morning after the Welcoming Feast, Draco awoke early in his white pyjamas, under his white sheets. It was the first day of school. He smiled and yawned. 

As Head Boy he had his own personal suite, now decorated in green and silver with snake patterns everywhere. One door led into the Head Girl's and Boy's common room, which was open to the school. Students were encouraged to come in and ask for help and tutoring. Another door opened to a passage that led to the Prefects' bathroom. Draco was chagrined to find he did not have his own en suite bathroom, but he had to make do with what he had. 

He used the time he had to use the bathroom, shower, and the like. When he got back to his room, something was vibrating on his desk. 

It was the little white velvet box that held the Veela egg - the 'Key', his mother had called it - was thumping and shuffling its way across the wood. Draco cautiously stepped forward and grabbed it. 

It vibrated in his hands as he opened it. Inside the little pearl hued egg was rolling around the box restlessly like a marble during an earthquake. He snapped the lid closed, shoved the box in his book-bag and ran from the room. 

It took him a few minutes to get to the Dungeons and then through the Slytherin Commons, now half full of students. He strode up the first few steps that led to the Girls Dormitories before the steps abruptly shifted and he slipped down them, landing on his bum. 

Millicent Bulstrode slid down the slide. She grabbed Draco's T-shirt with a thick fingered hand and easily pulled him to his feet. He snarled at her and smoothed over his now creased top. 

Four more Slytherin girls had slid down by the time he had composed himself. Millicent crossed her large arms over her buxom chest and waited for a 'Thank you' from Draco, which she would never get unless she beat it out of him. But she stood expectantly simply out of the principle of the thing. A Slytherin never took anything lying down, and they never walked away unless they had won. 

First it was Perdita Moon. "Oh Draco, I love you!" 

"No I love you more!" shrieked Sally-Ann Perks. 

"Did you know I created the post-it note and discovered gravity?" Tracey told Draco with revered eyes. 

They were coming forward with arms out-stretched to caress him. Draco tensed and let out a feeble whimper. 

Daphne Greengrass was first to caress his hair. "How do you get your hair that beautiful silver colour? I've tried _Madam Constantine's Super Hold Bleach Magic_ and it just hasn't the same effect!" 

"Don't worry, Draco," said Perdita, caressing his chest, "I'm a natural blonde." 

Millicent was looking on in amusement. "But Perdita, you've got black hair." 

"Wheeeeeeeeeeee!" said Pansy as she slid down the slide. "Now which naughty boy tried to - oh no, Draco!" 

"Pansy," he gasped, eyes squeezed tightly shut, "help!" 

Millicent took pity on Draco, and grabbed Sally-Ann, who was gripping Draco's arse, and pulled her away. 

Pansy was bobbing up and down anxiously. "How, Draco? I don't - oh wait! The Veela potion! But it's upstairs, Draco, and the stairs are all slippery!" 

Millicent went to grab Tracey, but she was a little tougher as she squirmed and shrieked in the bigger girl's grasp. "Pansy," said Millicent, "you've got a wand for a reason; use it." 

"Oh yeah, oops," Pansy giggled. "_Accio_ Veela potion!" 

The blue bottle came spiralling down the stairs, and Pansy grabbed it. She ran over to Perdita. "Here, drink this." 

"Piss off!" 

Draco opened his eyes. "If you want me to love you for ever and ever you'll drink it." 

Sally-Ann pushed herself back into the throng. "Oooh, me first, me first!" 

Draco was ignored for the moment as the girls scrabbled for the bottle. Eventually they all got a sip, and they each calmed down a bit, huffing and puffing. 

Pansy picked up the bottle where it had been kicked around on the floor. She tipped it upside-down sadly. "It's empty! The bloody slags drank it all." 

"Now _go away._," Draco told the four girls. They slunk off, embarrassed. He turned to Pansy. "But you drank it anyway; what's the problem?" 

Pansy pouted a little. "Your mum didn't tell me how long it would last, and I wanted to keep some just in case I started picturing you naked again." 

Millicent patted Draco on the shoulder. "Are you alright now, pretty-boy?" 

Draco smoothed over his school robes and ran a hand through his chin-length hair. "Yes - no wait!" He turned to her with wide eyes. "You didn't take the potion, did you? How come you weren't affected?" 

"Yeah," said Pansy, coming forward. "If you have some special secret I want to know about it!" 

Millicent shrugged and grabbed her school bag, making to leave. "I'm a lesbian." 

"Oh, poo," said Pansy dejectedly. 

Draco tapped a finger to his chin pensively. "So," he deliberated to Millicent, "you weren't affected because you don't like boys." 

Millicent shrugged again. "Yeah." 

"So that means," Draco said slowly, "that I can attract not only straight girls, but sexually confused boys?" 

She gave him a bored look in reply. 

"So..." Draco gave Pansy a triumphant look. "This Veela attraction thing works as a kind of gaydar!" 

"Listen, I'm hungry," said Millicent, "so I'm going to go down to breakfast." 

Draco waved her away and she left. "This is fantastic news, Pansy," he told her breathlessly. He started to do a little dance. 

"Uh-oh..." said Pansy. 

"IT'S RAINING MEN, HALLELUJAH! IT'S RAINING MEN, AMEN!" 

"So anyway," Pansy interrupted, "I take it you didn't try to get into the Girls Dorm for the vagina." 

"Ew," said Draco, making a face at her, "bad image, Pan. Oh great, now it's stuck in my head - thanks a lot!" 

She gestured for him to follow her to a coffee table surrounded by couches. When they had sat down, he riffled though his bag. "The Key thing, egg, whatever," said Draco, "started wiggling around." 

"Oh nice, let's see." 

Draco pulled out the little box and put it on the coffee table. It vibrated and moved across a bit. He flipped the lid and they both leaned forward to get a better look, accidentally bumping heads. 

"Ow!" 

"Oh sorry. Look Draco, there's a crack in the shell. It's hatching!" Indeed, there was a jagged crack down the middle of the egg. The crack branched off into several other fractures with soft, snapping sounds. Finally, a very small and slimy little head poked itself out from the membrane. Draco, unbreathing, held his finger out to it. This was the beginning of something great; he could feel it beating in his Veela blood. 

"Yuck," said Pansy. "Congratulations, Draco, you've given birth to a worm." 

The little creature caught onto his index finger and slithered itself wetly around it. "It's not a worm," Draco told her nastily; "it's a snake." 

She squinted. "Oh yeah, it is too. Wow, look at that little fella go!" The baby snake, black with silver criss-cross markings and green eyes, was expanding and lengthening, growing itself right before their eyes. By the time it had slid itself to Draco's upper arm, it was about as thick as a finger and a little longer than Draco's forearm. Draco smiled and patted its little head. Its red tongue flickered out to taste him curiously. 

Draco stared into its slitted green eyes. "Hello there, I'm your mummy." 

"Hey, what's this?" A slip of paper had magically appeared in the box. She read it aloud: "'Congratulations Veela, you are now the sole owner of a rare Key, which both represents the shadow nature of, and will help you find, your soul mate.'" Pansy paused to raise an eyebrow at Draco. "'Species: _Natrix Natrix Epimetheus_'" she continued. "'Sex: _Female_. Provided by _SC & Shroom Incorporated_.' So I guess it's a girl, then. What are you going to call her?" 

Draco untwisted the snake from his arm and held it up in front of them. "Pandora," he said conclusively. "I'm calling her Pandora because no doubt she'll open up a lot of trouble for me, but I love her anyway. Yes I do!" he added to Pandora in a 'coochie-coo' voice. "Yes I do! Mummy loves his little Pandora! You're a good whittle girly-whirl, aren't you?" 

Pandora flicked her tongue out and tickled his nose. 

- - -

With every bite of breakfast Draco took, he gave Pandora a tiny bit of egg. Pansy watched this with some disgust and a little jealousy. Down the Slytherin table, girls were cooing at Draco and his new familiar, while the boys looked on with envy. 

Draco turned to her. "Are you looking out for sexually confused boys admiring my beautiful figure?" 

"How can they? You're sitting down, in robes." But she looked around anyway. "I'm afraid to say, I can't tell whether it's you they like or your snake." 

"Pansy, she has a name; call her Pandora. I don't want her feelings hurt." He pouted at Pandora. "She's didn't mean anything by it, darling." 

"Schedules!" called the Slytherin prefects. The sheets were passed around messily in a pink flurry of parchment. Pansy managed to grab hers and Draco's. 

"You know what I think?" Draco said to her softly. "That if Pandora represents the 'nature' of my soul mate - which by the way is absolute nonsense, but let's humour ourselves for a bit - then my mate is a Slytherin. I mean, she's a snake; how much more obvious can you get?" 

Pansy moved a few plates away so she could lay the little pink slips of paper on the table top to compare them. "Mind you," she said, "in some cultures a snake represents intelligence and wisdom." 

"Hmm, so it could be a Ravenclaw. That's not too bad," Draco added optimistically. 

"Problem is," said Pansy, "there aren't many gay Slytherin boys around." 

Draco appeared thoughtful. "Well, there's also ex-Slytherins, like Adrian." 

Adrian Pucey was an older boy who had already left school. He had been Draco's only steady boyfriend. Pansy licked her lips, the only outward sign that showed she was getting irritated by the conversation. "I doubt it's him." 

Draco turned his attention back to Pandora as Pansy studied their schedules. 

"We've got Potions, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Charms and Transfiguration together. Then I've got Herbology with the Ravenclaws, and you've got Arithmancy and Goblish. Goblish?" 

Draco gave her a superior look. "Goblin language and relations." 

"Looks like you've got a busy year," Pansy commented, "with five NEWT classes, an elective, plus you being Head Boy and Quidditch Captain." 

"I don't actually have to take Potions for Curse-Breaking," Draco boasted, "but I've decided I want to keep with it. I'll use it as an academic back-up. And," he added with a sigh, "I'm not Quidditch Captain; I've had to pass that along to Margate Gold." He nodded to a thick-jawed sixth-year boy who was sitting down the table. "He'll be a good Captain. I've just no time." 

"How bothersome," said Pansy sympathetically. "And with Potter as Gryffindor's Quidditch Captain…" 

Draco straightened his shoulders. "Yes," he almost spat, "but I'm Head Boy, and that's _better_." 

"Well I think this will be a good school year; it has to be, it's our last. But I'm determined to go into Healer Training." 

"Good for you, Pan," said Draco. 

As they headed for their first lesson - Potions - Pansy contemplated their futures. After that school year they would be off in separate directions; but would they even survive the year? 

The fact was, there was a war. It was more a Cold one, battled with intelligence, but that was soon to change. Pansy had had discussions with her parents before the start of the school year and they had come to an agreement: that they would sit on the fence and not get involved. Pansy's father had started making arrangements for them to leave the country; Pansy knew not where yet because her father seemed to be keeping the information secret. 

But if she left before the second Dark Lord War could get into full swing, she and Draco would get separated. Yet wouldn't they separate even if she stayed? She loved Draco - he was her best friend - but Draco had his own choices to make. Draco had been silent recently about the main issue that troubled her heart: would he become a Death Eater like his father? Lucius Malfoy was on the run now and Draco apparently had no contact with him. But when he re-established contact, Draco would be lost to her. 

Pansy would never become a Death Eater herself, she knew that much. Her parents were conservative pure-bloods, yes, but they had never been interested in drastic action; they preferred to sit in the small world they had made for themselves, sipping tea and enjoying their retirement. 

Pansy and Draco went into the Potions classroom and took their usually seats at the front. There was a great reluctance from the Gryffindors as they too came in as one big murmuring shuffle. As a NEWT level lesson, it was a small, but it meant that Snape could tutor students individually throughout lesson time. The Sytherins sat themselves in a tight bunch at the front of the room. 

Snape strode in, slamming the door in his wake. He swivelled around after abruptly stopping at the front of the classroom. "Get out your things," he told the class bitingly. "There are four hundred potions in NEWT level; out of these the Ministry chooses a random fifty to test you on. This year we will get through two hundred. If you studied hard enough last year you would have memorised at least one hundred and fifty. Get through this year's assessment and your knowledge of potions should be adequate enough for your NEWT test in August." He glared around the room. 

Pansy was pre-occupied. She looked over her shoulder, caught Ronald's eye and gave him a long, amiable, sexy smile. 

The red-head looked momentarily confused, before giving her a hesitant smile in return. Pansy heard Draco mutter "Bloody hell" under his breath. 

Professor Snape flicked his wand towards the board, and a set of instructions quickly wrote themselves along it. "Because we have a Veela in our midst," and here Snape paused to look at Draco, "we will be brewing the Veelannique Potion, which is also one of the four hundred Ministry allocated potions. It is a simple potion with the purpose of protecting the consumer from Veela attraction for a period of twenty-eight days. You will brew the quantity requested on the board. However, only a teaspoon full is needed to be imbibed for it to work. Feel free to take said amount at the end of the lesson if that is your wish." 

He moved across the floor lazily and continued. "Due to past experience I will pair you off with whomever I see fit, as inter-House relations will ensure less chatter and more work is done. By Slytherin student, in alphabetical order: Bulstrode, Brown…" 

Pansy turned to Draco, wide-eyed. "He's pairing us off with Gryffindors!" she whispered furiously. Her panic quickly subsided. "I hope I end up with Ronald." 

"...Davis, Finnigan..." 

Draco did not seem to be listening to Snape at all. He glared at her. "How could you fancy him, Pansy? Look at him! He's so hairy I can hardly see the freckles on his ugly, stupid face!" 

Snape had probably noticed them talking by now, but had chosen to ignore it. "...Greengrass, Granger..." 

Pansy turned and did look. She had to admit, he was kind of hairy; the bloke had long red hair tied in a loose pony-tail, and he had let stubble grow on his chin and upper lip. The scruffy look only made Pansy want him more. 

"...Malfoy, Potter..." 

"He doesn't even shave, for Merlin's sake!" Draco continued. "I mean, look at his side-burns - wait, did Snape just call out my name?" 

"...Nott, Thomas..." 

"You're paired with Potter," she said quickly. She was waiting for it... it was coming... 

"... and Parkinson, Weasley. BEGIN!" 

Pansy was the first to get up, almost squealing in delight as she gathered her things and moved up the aisle to sit in Potter's place. Draco covered his face with his hands and groaned. 

She stood expectantly at the side of the work-station and glared at Potter. He glared back, but reluctantly gathered his things to move to his new place next to Draco. "I'd feel sorry for you Ron," he said, "but I think I'm in a worse situation." 

"See you," said Ronald forlornly. 

Pansy sat herself down, and beamed at him. "Hello, Ronald," she purred. 

"Er," he dithered, "hi. I think I'll just, um, I'll get the ingredients." He got up. 

"Ohh," she cooed, "you're such a sweetie-pie!" 

He looked over his shoulder at her in dismay, and stumbled into a desk. 

- - -

For the next half hour, Potter kept himself busy doing pretty much all the work, while Draco sat back and played with Pandora. 

Potter was chopping the ingredients angrily, in a self-pitying 'I can't believe this is happening to me' kind of way. Every now and again he would pause and glance at Draco side-ways, then go back to preparing the potion. Draco liked watching the twist of his lips, and the tensing of his shoulders as he worked. 

Potter spoke without looking at Draco. "Heard you didn't get chosen for Quidditch Captain, Malfoy." 

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Then you heard wrong, Potter. I turned it down for Head Boy, actually." He sniffed. "Trust a Gryffindor to prefer simple brutality over academics; but then, you probably weren't in the running for Head Boy at all, were you?" Potter turned and glared at him. "You weren't even Prefect material." 

Potter was staring at him funny again. But then Draco realised it was not he whom Potter was looking at, but Pandora. Draco frowned and hugged her to him protectively. 

Potter picked up the small strand of Veela hair. "Perhaps we should cut _your_ hair instead of putting this in," he suggested to Draco nastily. 

"Don't be stupid, Potter," Draco snapped. "This Veela potion requires hair from a pure-blood Veela, and I'm only part-Veela. You put the wrong kind in and you'll stuff everything up!" 

"Alright, calm down." He was looking at Pandora again, in an almost dreamy, meditative way. Then he parted his lips. 

What Draco heard next was a bizarre hissing, like the spray of water through the air after a wave crashes. It was quiet, yet oddly sharp. Draco sat up. Potter was speaking Parseltongue! To his snake! 

"Stop it!" Draco demanded. 

The other boy blinked and looked up at Draco. "Malfoy, she - she said her name is Pandora, in case you wanted to know." 

Draco sneered at him. "Of course I know; I named her, didn't I? Now put the Narcis in!" 

Potter did, hiding his face with a veil of soft, wavy black hair. Draco may have imagined it, but was Potter blushing? "She's afraid," Potter said softly. He turned back to Draco, concerned. "She loves you, but she fears you'll never find your… um," he lowered his eyes and reddened more, "your mate." 

Draco swallowed thickly and said nothing, but inside he was coming up with a plan. 

Potter looked back at him. "What I mean to say is, she thinks you and your mate will never be together. So, what's it like?" 

Draco blinked. "What's what like?" 

"Being a magical creature, and stuff, and having only one person you're destined to be with. Are you scared you'll never find her?" 

Draco was getting irritatingly uncomfortable. "Why would I be?" 

Potter's eyes widened. "Because you could die if you don't find your mate soon. I heard that's why Veelas are so rare." 

Draco opened his mouth to tell him to mind his own business, when movement behind Potter's shoulder caught his eye. Snape had just gritted his teeth and bent over his desk, clutching his arm. Most of the students had not even noticed, but Draco swivelled around in his chair and gave Pansy a panicked look. She mirrored his expression right back at him. 

Snape took a deep breath and straightened. "SILENCE!" he bellowed. "I must go now on an errand. You are to finish your work in silence. If I am not back by the end of the lesson, bottle your potions and put them on my desk, clearly labelled." And then he strode down the aisle and exited. 

There was quiet, before everyone exploded into chatter again, talking louder now no teachers were around. 

Pansy was giving him a look. _His Dark Mark flared,_ it said. 

Draco nodded in return. _Don't worry, he'll be fine._

Potter had his eyes narrowed at the door Snape had just gone through. "Psst," someone hissed from Potter's other side. Granger was leaning across the aisle, passing Potter a scrappy exercise book. As soon as it was loosely in Potter's hands, Draco snatched it away. 

"Hey!" said Potter, reaching for it as Draco lifted his arms and held it away from his adversary. Draco quickly flipped through the pages. It was like a child's scrap book, filled with a lot of writing in three different hands, and a few photos, as well as cuttings from newspapers, magazines - even text books. There were plenty of sketches in pencil too; one particularly caught his eye: of a topless boy with large, imposing wings. My god, Draco thought, is that supposed to be me? 

Draco laughed loudly as Potter was pressed up against his side, grappling for the diary. Both boys were almost out of their seats as they wrestled for it. Finally, Draco flipped open his robe with one hand, and shoved the diary up his white T-shirt with the other. He gave Potter a smug grin as Potter froze, blushed, and sat back down in his seat. He was staring at Draco's tee, which had navy writing across it that read: "Don't HATE me because I'm BEAUTIFUL". 

At this point most of the class was watching. Draco drawled, "Now don't worry, Potter; I'll give it back. But only if you do me a favour." 

Potter, Granger and Weasley were glaring. Pansy was cackling and shaking her head in wonder. Potter clenched his jaw. "Fine, Malfoy. What do you want?" 

Malfoy held up a finger as a gesture of silence and patience. "You must promise that you will not repeat both this next question, and its answer to anyone, ever. If you do, I'll…" Draco racked his brains for anything bribe-worthy he may have found in the diary. As far as he saw, it was just boring chatter between three Gryffindors involving either Quidditch, Sirius Black, or where Voldemort was last seen. He decided to make something up. "I'll tell the whole school who Granger's secret crush is." 

Granger gasped and paled. Behind him, Weasley growled and cursed under his breath. Potter glared even more. "Fine," he said through clenched teeth. Draco smiled triumphantly; he had inadvertently hit a nerve. 

He nodded. "Good," he said, and leaned towards Potter. 

Potter blushed and leaned back. 

Draco rolled his eyes. "I'm not going to bite you." That only made Potter blush harder. Draco decided to ignore it. 

He made a come-hither motion with his finger, and then he cupped his hands over Potter's ear. He leaned forward and whispered, "Ask Pandora who my mate is. And don't tell anyone who," he added quickly. 

Potter pulled away and nodded. He looked to Pandora and spoke in Parseltonque. Pandora watched him, her head moving from side-to-side in an observatory fashion. She hissed. 

Potter turned back and cupped his own warm hands around Draco's ear. Potter smelled of something sweet and fragrant... Draco could not put his finger on it... was it vanilla? Marshmallows, Draco thought, that's it. Potter smelt like marshmallows, and freshly-cut grass. Potter whispered, "She said you have to figure it out for yourself." 

Draco pulled away and scowled at him. "Bullshit!" He leaned forward and whispered angrily in his ear: "She's my Key; she's supposed to know!" 

Pandora was hissing at Potter again. He turned back and whispered to Draco, "She said she does know, but she says she can't tell you because you have to figure it out on your own. To, um, something about growth and love... er." He pulled away and shrugged apologetically. 

It did not make sense to Draco; Pandora was supposed to help Draco find this soul mate or whatever, but she was being no help at all! He reluctantly pulled the diary from under his tee and handed it to Potter, just as the classroom door banged open. 

Snape strode in once more, fully composed. "You should be finished by now! You have one minute left to bottle your potion and bring it to me." 

There was movement as students did as instructed and packed up to leave. Draco and slumped in his chair and lagged behind, slowly packing and making to leave. When he was almost at the door he heard a snippet of conversation from the front of the classroom. 

"I'm perfectly all right, Miss Granger, no need for you concern." 

"That's good. I - I was just worried. So when are we going to brew the Anathema Draught? I have some notes here, and I was thinking - " 

"Quiet, Miss Granger! We will speak of this only in absolute private..." 

Draco frowned, feeling a sudden stab of betrayal. He walked out the classroom, telling himself that it was not as it seemed, it was probably just some extracurricular assignment Snape was helping Granger with... surely Snape hadn't sided with the Gryffindors, surely he and Granger weren't friends... 

Pansy was outside in the corridor, her hands clasped behind her back as she swung from side-to-side in that flirtatious, girly way she had. She was smiling and giggling at a gobsmacked Weasley and Potter. 

"Oh, ah..." Weasley stammered, "I don't know if, um. Anyway, aren't you going out with Malfoy?" 

Pansy giggled again. Draco crossed his arms and watched the scene from behind the boys. "Who, Draco? Are you daft or something?" 

Yes, Draco answered silently to himself, as a daft as a two-bob watch. How had Pansy gotten such bad taste in men? It was some sort of messed up Electra Complex, surely. 

"Of course Draco and I aren't together," Pansy continued in mild surprise, "he's flaming pouf!" 

Potter blinked. "He is?" 

Draco walked forward and the three of them finally noticed him. "Geez, Pansy, don't be so rude!" he mock-reprimanded her playfully. He stopped next to Potter and tilted his head. "Where do you get such terrible language?" 

She tilted her head right back at him. "I learnt from the best." 

"Well," he put an arm around her shoulders and started to lead her away, "let's move away from here before you do something you might regret, like ask Weasley out on a date." 

Draco heard Weasley splutter and cough behind them as they moved away. 

"I didn't know Malfoy was gay," he heard Potter say as he steered Pansy around the corner. "Did you know that, Ron?" 

Draco turned immediately serious. "Okay, listen, Pan, fun and games are over." 

"Pardon?" She saw the look on his face and stopped them both. Then she gestured for Draco to follow her into a nearby empty classroom. "What's the matter? You look really pissed, Draco." 

"Gee, thanks. Anyway, what do you know about the Anathema Draught?" 

Pansy frowned pensively, and then shook her head. "I'm sorry Draco, I haven't heard of it." 

He nodded. "I think I have; but I don't know where! And I don't remember what it does. Listen, I heard Severus and Granger talking about brewing it at the end of the lesson just now. What does it mean? I mean, why would they brew a potion together? They were talking like friends, or like equals, almost." 

Pansy looked worried. "That does not sound good." 

"No it's not. It's almost as if..." He trailed off and ran a hand through his hair, and started to pace. 

"Hey," said Pansy, "don't get into a tizz about it. I'm sure there's a perfectly simple explanation; I mean, it might just be about a special program Granger's on. You know how she likes her special programs." 

He stopped and stared at her. "But what if it's not? What if he's... what if he's joined the losing side?" 

He watched Pansy quickly avert her eyes and look to the floor. Draco frowned; they rarely talked about the war seriously anymore, and now Draco had a feeling Pansy was hiding something, like an emotion or thought she did not want to reveal to him. Pandora slithered around his neck and tickled his ear with her tongue as if to reassure him that everything would turn out alright. 

Draco knew it would not be so. 

**To Be Continued**

Reviews are the spice of life! 


	4. Inexpensive, Striding Bull

A/N: This fic will, for some reason I don't know (by brain is a circus), contain many pairings. They are: Pansy/Ron, Draco/Harry, Millicent/Luna, Lucius/Narcissa and some Snape/Hermione. As well as Ginny/Harry unrequited and Draco/Snape unrequited. Um yeah, that's about it. 

Pleeeeease pretty please read and review! 

Ta luv youse. 

**Chapter Four - Inexpensive, Striding Bull**

Millicent Bulstrode knew the hearts of men. 

In other words, she was an observer, as she was rarely observed herself. Untrained eyes were drawn to prettier, sexually attractive people and objects, and merely smoothed past her own thicker, meaner form. She could pick out anyone and immediately put them into their correct social category. Harry Potter: believes himself to be worthless, but is considered by most to be particularly worthy. Is biased against Slytherins and is quite unaware of his own bigotry. Unobservant and assuming. Self-pitying. Bad-tempered. Bad friend. Popular amoungst said friends regardless of his faults. Bisexual. Confused about said bisexuality. 

Millicent hated bisexuals almost as much as she hated heterosexuals. Heterosexuals were predictable; they said horrible things about one's homosexuality, and that was fact, no matter how much they would deny it. There were two types of straight people: the ones that say they hate you to your face, and the ones that say they hate you behind your back. It was a simple and rather easy thing for a lesbian like Millicent to get used to. Even though Pansy Parkinson now made out to love Draco and say nearly everyday just how cool her gay best friend was, Pansy had once loathed Malfoy for his homosexuality. When she had first found out she had trashed their dormitory to pieces. She had screamed and wailed and cried and cursed Malfoy to Hell. 

Pansy Parkinson: believes the man of her dreams will whisk her away and will live happily ever after in a nice cottage with a loving husband and two point five children. Pretends to love her life, even though she hates it. Cares little about anyone other than herself. Believes everyone loves her when the opposite is the case. Heterosexual. Is still in love with Draco Malfoy, but is desperately trying to remove, repress, destroy said love. Does not give up easily. 

Millicent was observant, even at a young age. She had probably figured out Malfoy's sexuality even before he himself did. In Draco Millicent thought she might have a kin; even though Millicent hated men and Draco was a misogynistic prick, they were both gay, and sometimes that was enough. She warned him about the heterosexuals, and he listened and understood. But she had yet to properly warn him about bisexuals. Bisexuals were dangerous, because they said they loved you one minute, and told you they despised you the next. And they always left their homosexual lovers for the opposite sex. It was practically a given, but strangely enough not a lot of gay people took much knowledge of this unwritten clause. It had a lot to do with fear: if gays only sought out only gays, would their supply of sexual partners be limited? 

Draco Malfoy: believes himself to be worthy, but is considered by most to be particularly unworthy. Is biased against Muggle-borns and is very aware of his own bigotry. Observant yet assuming. Arrogant. Bad-tempered. Good friend. Unpopular amoungst the masses regardless of his merits. Homosexual. Silently opposed to said homosexuality. 

Daphne Greengrass: heterosexual and very stupid. It was breakfast in the Great Hall and Daphne was currently crying into Perdita's shoulder, wailing about how Michael Corner had just broken up with her and, in good teenaged girl angst, her life was over. 

If a Slytherin girl was crying, it was now their lore that all the girls in her year and House should rush en masse to the nearest bathroom to soothe her woes. Daphne was sandwiched between Tracey, Sally-Ann and Perdita as they went to find a girls' loo. 

"I'll see you at lunch," Pansy told Draco, "and then we'll talk about the you-know-what…" She looked up at Millicent. "C'mon, let's go." 

Millicent paused with her fork halfway to her mouth and heaved a sigh. "Do I have to?" 

"Yes, please. I think Daphne might need your frank advice." 

Millicent rolled her eyes and the two of them quickly exited the Hall, following the other four girls ahead. They were climbing up a moving set of stairs. 

Millicent picked her teeth as she got on. "So where are we going?" 

Pansy frowned and looked around. "Hey guys - where are we?" 

The girls at the top of the stairs stared down at her. "Um..." said Tracey. 

"I think there might be a tot up here..." said Sally-Ann dubiously. 

Millicent ran a hair through her short dark hair and leaned against the wobbling banister, exasperated. "There's one on the next level to the left." 

"Oh good!" said Tracey. 

"No body goes into it." 

"Oh good - no wait, there's a catch, isn't there?" 

"Always," said Millicent, smirking. The stairs stopped and she leisurely walked up them. "It's haunted." 

Pansy made a loud, scoffing 'pfft' noise. "Whatever you reckon, Millie." 

They all shuffled onto the landing. Daphne whimpered. "I don't want to go into anything haunted!" 

"Well we're here," said Millicent with a shrug. She pushed the door to the bathroom open to reveal a long room with grimy stalls lined up to the left, and a circle of sinks and mirrors on the right. There was something hanging from the ceiling. She glanced at it briefly, thinking it only Moaning Myrtle, and waited for the onslaught of enraged whining. 

The rest of the girls walked in hesitantly. "Looks dirty but," Pansy lifted her head and sniffed the air, "surprisingly clean." Her face still facing upwards, she suddenly screamed. 

Everyone else looked up too. The girl hanging from the ceiling was in fact not Moaning Myrtle, but a live girl with long blonde hair and large blue eyes. She was swinging in a pouch of green sticky goo attached to the upper with long tendrils. Some had been stuck to her mouth as a gag. "Mmmff, mmmff mmm," she said. 

They were all so shocked, Daphne had even paused in her crying. 

Anger welled in Millicent suddenly, and she pointed her wand at the restrained girl. With all her magical strength she shouted, "_Finite incantatem!_" 

With watery sucking sounds the goo unravelled itself from the girl and the ceiling, compressing and finally disappearing. The girl fell down with a giggle. Millicent, standing directly under, managed to catch the small girl around the waist. She staggered under the weight, but did not fall. 

To Millicent, the next few seconds felt like many minutes passing in a slow curve around just the two of them. 

The girl dangled in Millicent's arms, her hands on Millicent's shoulders. She smiled down at Millicent with liquid blue eyes, her long blonde hair loose and falling forward to create a fragrant veil, obscuring their view of the room. If the other girls were talking, Millicent could not hear it; instead a steady tinkling of a chime could by heard in her own mind, as she stared at the angel before her. 

The girl lifted a hand and tweaked a strand of Millicent's hair at the nape of her neck. "Hello," said the girl, and her voice was like her eyes - serene, liquid and all-consuming. 

Millicent put her down and stood back. The room came back into focus and none of the other occupants were paying attention. 

Daphne had her expanded hair-care kit propped up on the sink against the mirror, and Tracey and Perdita were helping her choose a colour. 

"I think you should go back to Slytherin Green," said Tracey. 

"I was thinking maybe going back to Barbie Blonde," Daphne considered, "or maybe Ecstatic Orange." 

"Perhaps you should be loyal," suggested Perdita, "and have Sparkling Silver with streaks of Slytherin Green...?" 

"Whatever," said Daphne hastily, "I just want this stupid Ravenclaw Blue out!" 

A couple of sinks down Pansy had her expanded make-up kit propped up in front of her. "You have such a beautiful chocolate complexion," she was saying to Sally-Ann, "so I suggest using the earthy-tones palate here. Use as much as you like." 

"Thanks, Pan," the dark girl returned blandly. "You're putting it on pretty heavy there; let me guess, you've a got yourself new bloke, yeah?" 

Pansy had finished with the foundation powder, and was now working her eyelids with the light pink shimmer stick. "Not just as yet, Sal, but I'll get him soon!" 

Millicent grimaced and turned back to the girl, who was gone. "Hey - !" she exclaimed stupidly, looking around. "Wait I - I wanted to know your name… where are you?" 

"Oh sorry...!" came a little voice from one of the closed toilet stalls. Millicent hurried over to it. "I was hanging there for hours, and I really needed to pee." 

Millicent's anger swelled back to coil around her insides. "Who did that to you?" she demanded. They were talking through the dented wood of the toilet stall, and Millicent squashed her impatience to see the girl's face again. 

"Oh, you know..." the girl said evasively, "they do it all the time." 

Millicent was getting frustrated. "Who do?" 

"My Housemates. Anyway, it doesn't matter," she added quickly, yet calmly, as if sensing Millicent's impending explosion. "I mean, the members of the old DA, they try to help out when they can, but they're not in my classes or dormitory." 

The toilet flushed. The girl opened the door and looked up at Millicent smiling. Then she turned and headed for the sinks. 

"Sally and I will see you lot later, then?" said Pansy to the room at large. "We have Herbology now. Good luck with that, Daph." 

"Thanks, Pan!" said Daphne from where she was drenching her hair in a sink full of water. The two girls left. 

Tracey put her hands on her hips and watched the blonde girl wash her hands in the next sink. "Hey, I know you! You're Loony Lovegood, you are." 

The girl turned her unblinking eyes onto Tracey. "It's Luna Lovegood, actually." 

"That's nice," said Tracey caustically, her attention back on Daphne. "Now Daph - are you _sure_ you want Ecstatic Orange?" 

"Why are we using hair-dye anyway," asked Perdita as she examined the label on the bottle of orange liquid. "I mean, one flick of my wand and your hair'll go orange." 

"Firstly, I don't trust your charms; one flick of that wand and you'll singe my hair to bits, more like. Secondly, Madam Constantine's is the best; she has no roots for four whole months and the colours are top notch…" 

Luna turned to Millicent. "Well, thank you for releasing me. Goodbye." She pivoted away. 

"Wait!" said Millicent desperately, following her into the corridor. Students were running up and down it, rushing to their morning classes. Millicent had to shout a little over the noise. "Can I - um… well, my name's Millicent Bulstrode…" 

Luna stood staring at her tranquilly. "I really have to go get my books for the next lesson, now." 

"I know, I know," said Millicent hastily. Merlin, when did she turn into this blathering idiot? Millicent sounded about as eloquent as a Gryffindor with a mouth full of marshmallows, at this point. "It's just, I'd like to see you again, maybe." Oh good one, Millie, just shove more sweets in your mouth. "Perhaps we could go to the library sometime, or…" Urk, it's getting crowded in here! But a rather large part of Millicent did not care - she was falling in love with this girl. 

Luna seemed to be thinking, her head tilted to one side. "There's a Hogsmeade weekend in two weeks, isn't there?" 

"Um," breathed Millicent, "yes?" 

"That's all. Goodbye, Millicent Bulstrode." And then she was turning away, and disappearing into the crowd like a starling into its erratic flock. 

From the doors of the library, Pansy could see Ron Weasley and Harry Potter's heads bent over their work, at one of the far tables. 

Pansy stopped and stared for a second. Draco jostled past her. "I'm going to check the catalogue," he said briskly. He was fuming, the poor bugger. "Chances are they're in the RS anyway. You might want to look there." 

She walked after him. The Restricted Section was open to them because they were advanced level Defence Against the Dark Arts students. 

As Draco went over the catalogue, Pansy wondered why Potter and Ronald were in the library at lunch time. About five minutes earlier, Pansy and Draco had grabbed a quick lunch and had hastily gotten over to the library to research the Anathema Draught. Draco was close to obsessed now; he suspected that Snape was brewing the Draught for Potter, and if that was the case, it meant that Draco's godfather was a traitor to the Dark Lord and Slytherin. 

The catalogue was this large box cupboard full of little drawers, in a corner near the check-out desk. A small book worm stuck its head out of one of the drawers and in a little voice it squeaked, "Subject?" 

"Anathema Draught," Draco told it. It gave a little squeak and several more worms poked their heads out other drawers. There was a high-pitched conversation between them, before they each dived back into their drawers, and the whole box began to shake. 

Finally, a drawer near the bottom slammed open and a little white card flew out. Draco caught it and read, "RS - SAL - 78. RS - CR - 79. RS - these are all Restricted Section, except for one down the bottom. I just want a summary, so I'll check that one out first. I'll meet you in the R Section." 

Pansy put a hand on Draco's arm, distracted. "Wait a minute, I think I have a plan." She leaned forward, whispering. "If the potion is for Potter, he might have it, right?" 

"Yes," said Draco. "But what are you going to do - just walk up to him and ask him?" 

Pansy leaned back and gave him a slow, sexy smile. She rolled her shoulders and lifted her hands to her hair, undoing the band with one hand and smoothing the long golden strands with the other. Locks fell over her shoulders as she gave Draco a sultry pose. "That's exactly what I'm going to do," she whispered. 

Draco shook his silver-blonde head and laughed, his grey eyes slitted in glee. "Okay, have fun!" He waved her off and walked away. 

Pansy pouted her glossed lips and swaggered to the Gryffindors' table, hips swinging. 

She took a deep breath and stood in front of them, across the table from where they were sitting. Potter blinked up her blearily. 

"What d'you want, Parkinson?" 

Ronald's head snapped up. 

Pansy gave Potter a slow, condescending smile. "Hello Harold." She turned to the other and greeted, "Ronald." 

The red-head stared at her, mouth hanging open. 

"My name isn't 'Harold'," said Potter irritably, "it's Harry, just Harry. And he's Ron," he added, pointing with a jerk of his thumb. 

Pansy slowly put her hands on the table in front of her, sliding forward. Ron's eyes fell to the open lapels of her blouse. "Okay Just Harry, Ron. I need your help." 

"Forget it," said Potter, his focus back on his notebook. 

Pansy's lips twisted in annoyance. "Ron…" she purred. 

He blinked up at her. "Er, yeah?" 

"It's just that, I'm doing an extra-curricular assignment for Potions, you see, and I'm getting Draco to help me but I know Hermione Granger is also doing extra-curricular study, and I was wondering if she still had that very _particular_ book out. You know… the one that… she has…" 

"You mean, _Curse Breaking for Potion Lovers_?" 

Pansy beamed. "Yes, exactly what I was about to say!" 

"Well," said Ron, voice cracking, "I have some copies here…" He began shuffling through his parchments before Potter interrupted. 

"Why can't you just ask Hermione if you could borrow the book?" Potter snapped, glaring. 

Pansy pressed her lips together and spoke through clenched teeth. "Because she'd say no. And in risk of sounding like a plebeian: duh, Potter, _duh!_" 

"Then ask Snape," continued Potter unmoved, "he'd probably give you his own copy if he has one. If he doesn't, he'd probably make Hermione give up hers." 

"Probably," she sniffed. "Have you found your notes yet, Ron?" 

Ron looked up and gave her a sympathetic smile. "Any particular potion you were looking for?" 

"Anathema Draught," Pansy answered promptly, straightening up. "Thank you." 

He gave her the notes (about five pages of them) and she stole a blank piece of parchment, duplicated them with one spell, and copied the notes with another. The note-copying spell worked much like a Muggle photocopier - the copies only came out in black and white and often the text on the copies were crooked. But it was enough. 

She grabbed her prize and sauntered to an empty table. A minute later Draco came back with a large book from the general potions section. 

"Found it!" they said to each other, in unison. "Swapsies?" asked Pansy. 

Draco nodded, and sat down next to her. He leafed through the pages Pansy had given him. "Honestly Pansy," he drawled disapprovingly, "please tell me _you_ didn't copy these; they're all wonky!" 

"No, it was Potter," Pansy lied easily. "Okay, found the page." She cleared her throat, and read the passage. "'_The Anathema Draught is widely known as a preventive against mild curses ranging from Level One Death's Countdown to Level Three Darkness. However, medical facilities keep it in stock, as it allegedly cures fatal curses, wherein the fatal curse was not in fact fatal as it should have been. In other words, it cures people whom have survived fatal curse attacks, by banishing, or exorcising the curse still in the system. However, the symptoms of fatal curses (ranging in the Eighth Level) are not alleviated completely by the Anathema Draught, but it can work to sooth the chronic symptoms over time. _

'This does not include the scarring of high level curses, as they will continue to be permanent, but the Draught does tend to help with physical pain, nightmares, hallucinations, itching, internal haemorrhaging, myocardial infarction, blindness and infection. Brewed with fire eucalypt will allow for the soothing of chills, and with the inclusion of Nile's Eye can prevent the curse from becoming a mental channel for outside forces. Other substitutes can be made to suit the symptoms of the infected.'" 

Draco looked up from the notes. "Does it say anything about curse tattoos?" 

Pansy scanned a bit. "No, I don't think so." 

Draco flipped through his pages again. "This potion is long, difficult and expensive. Just look at the amount of substitution alone!" He leaned closer to Pansy and flipped to the second page. "Look: Eight pints of holy water... no wait, this bit... substituting six flakes of red gurnard with seven werewolf hairs on the full moon will give the potion a preventive against night terrors; however, as a side-effect, the drinker will become prone to self-mutilation. Or this: adding two and a half tablets of zinc with lambs' ears will give the potion the added effect of an aphrodisiac." 

Pansy snorted. "Add zinc to anything and it becomes an aphrodisiac." 

Draco smirked. "True. But what about the substitution of fenny snake with Nile's Eye? I mean, it's obvious..." Draco trailed off as he scrutinised the rest. 

Pansy put a hand on his shoulder. "Draco, what's on your mind?" 

Draco snapped his head up, and the look in his now bright silver eyes made Pansy gasp and recoil, slightly. "It's obvious," he hissed, "that Snape and Granger are working on this potion for Potter. I mean think about it; it's a potion to alleviate the symptoms for a person scarred from a fatal curse. Remember those episodes he had in fourth year? I bet he still gets them, sometimes. And that means Snape is helping Potter!" 

Pansy cautiously looked around Draco to see if Potter and Ron, or anyone else, had heard them talking. The coast seemed clear. She looked at Draco seriously. "I was actually thinking," she said slowly, "that perhaps Snape is brewing this for himself. I mean, we both know that the Dark Mark hurts him; we saw him practically bend double in class just yesterday!" 

Draco almost snarled at her. "But that's almost worse! It makes him a traitor, as if he doesn't want the Dark Mark." 

She shook her head. "But the Anathema Draught can't get rid of scars, and probably not tattoos either. Which means he just wants the pain of it to end, but still wear the tattoo." 

"Yes," said Draco, nodding, "to spy for Dumbledore!" 

"Oh Draco..." Pansy sighed. 

"Pansy, look at me." But she would not, so he roughly grabbed her chin and whipped her head around. Pansy was afraid of him; his eyes were bright, the pupils starting to slit, and his canine teeth were lengthening. His almost-claws dug into her skin. "You have to understand," he hissed, "that the Dark Lord always causes his followers pain for a reason. It is imperative that a good servant of the Dark Lord endure this pain; it makes you strong, and in it the Dark Lord's torture is honour. In this Snape is weak, and a traitor to his master." 

Pansy was shaking. She whispered, "Are you going to follow the Dark Lord, Draco?" 

Draco's smile was slow and sinister. "Of course." He tilted his head, curious. "Did you ever think I wouldn't?" 

She pulled in a shaky breath and blinked away her tears. "Anything to destroy Potter, right?" Her question was barely audible next to the panicked beating of her heart. 

Draco smile seemed to drip away like melting ice. "This isn't about him." 

She stared into his eyes. "It's always about him, Draco." 

Her eyes flicked away from his face and over his shoulder, to see that Potter was staring at them from his table with hurt, angry green eyes. 

Severus Snape only ever endured the young in meticulous circumstances, and only when youth portrayed their intellectual gifts. Draco, in particular, had been a very smart boy; although now his behaviour was matched along with the flaws of adulthood: stubborn, ambitious, and unreceptive to offered help. 

But when Draco was a young boy aged eleven, he would come to Severus's quarters every night for company. In his unbroken voice he had declared his House mates as imbeciles, that only 'Godfather Severus' could understand his superior intellect. Severus had thought it almost adorable at the time. He would drape his little body over Severus's back as they lay on his bed, and Draco would read the Latin books over Severus's shoulder silently. 

Consequently to growing up, Draco came to Severus's private quarters less and less over the years. However, he did come sometimes to sit on his almost-brother-father's bed and read, ask questions, and debate, when either had the energy. Severus, in his own quiet mind, had come to think of the Malfoy heir as his own son. His throat would always constrict at the thought that his Draco would eventually grown into Lucius Malfoy's clone. Subtly, Severus had the thought that perhaps he could shape Draco himself, into something of his own creation. Into a man of open thought and positive progress. 

For a while he truly thought he might be able to do just that. Draco had seemed to act relaxed with Severus alone. Draco only ever gave Severus his full attention, at least until the end of fourth year, when he came out of an argument with Pansy Parkinson shaken, but all the better for it. Now Draco confided in her, rather than Severus, but there were other circumstances leading up to Draco's decision to switch confidants. 

Indeed, Draco's fourth year was possibly the worst for the Slytherins. It pushed them towards decision and evaluation. 

But it was Severus's worst, by far. 

Now, as he stood in his personal workroom, carefully stirring the boiling Anathema Draught clockwise, he thought back. 

One image that would never leave was the 'Potter Stinks' badge sitting on the table in his bedroom. Severus had focused on it almost the whole time, over Draco's blonde head. Draco himself had Severus pressed up against the door. He was wearing only a vest and trousers, Severus remembered. His fingers scrapped convulsively at Severus's shirt, and strands of silver hair seemed to be tangled with the small buttons. Severus's own fingernails had been clawing at the wood of the door. 

Draco had lifted his head and looked at his godfather with grey eyes glistening with tears. "I'm sorry," he whispered, "I think I love you." 

Severus only groaned in denial and concentrated on that stupid badge. 

Back to reality. Severus stopped stirring and looked to the side. At the adjacent bench, Hermione was stirring her own half of the Anathema Draught, her back turned to him. As if sensing his stare, she turned her head and gave him a wary smile. 

"Almost time to put in the Nile's Eye, I should think," he murmured. 

Hermione's smile (and he only called her 'Hermione' in his head) became stronger and she nodded. She reached over the bench to pick up the bottle of wet sand. As she did so, her blouse stretched up to reveal the soft skin of her lower back. 

Severus closed his eyes. 

Where was he? Oh yes. Draco had leaned up and kissed Severus's bobbing adam's apple. "I want to kissed you again," Draco had said. 

_I'm sorry, I think I love you._

Severus Snape hated the Sorting Hat. It had a tendency to put perfectly smart girls in Gryffindor. Lily Evans had been just that - a Ravenclaw in Gryffindor's clothing. 

_I want to kiss you again._

Hermione poured the sand into her cauldron; it passed over the brim of the bottle with a soft hiss. 

_I'm sorry, I think I love you._

'Potter Stinks' burned into his mind. And somewhere there was a clue, and he was not picking it up. But where? It ate at his gut like a parasite, dripped at the tip of his tongue like poison. 

_I'm sorry..._

Hermione turned around and beamed at him. Severus did not like men, and he certainly did not like young boys. 

Young, intelligent, almost-Ravenclaw girls, however? 

Absolutely sacred and not to be touched. Severus gritted his teeth and looked away once more. 

**To Be Continued**


End file.
